


Worth It

by spraycansoul



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: -Ish, Alternate Universe, Buzzfeed AU, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Partners to Lovers, Pie, Slow Burn, YouTube, in the latter parts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-19 15:26:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10642689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spraycansoul/pseuds/spraycansoul
Summary: Jack has been working at the desk next to Eric Bittle's for the better part of three months now. He and Bittle sit next to each other everyday, give or take, usually minding their own business, sometimes idly chatting about the new series coming out or their co-workers, with Bittle occasionally shooting him a warm smile and Jack answering it with a trying-hard-to-be-a-smile grimace. They’ve never once been assigned to same project, and Jack isn’t really sure if he’s relieved or dismayed, but he tries not to think about it too hard.That is… Well. That’s all until one Thursday morning in November.OR: the Zimbits Buzzfeed AU that nobody asked for





	1. Petee's Pie Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work in progress and I'm only really posting this to kind of gauge if people would actually read this if I kept writing, so please please let me know in the comments!! I have most of it mapped out and there will most likely be three chapters (one per destination) but the details are still really loose so I would also really love to hear what you guys think/what you might wanna see!

Jack has been working at the desk next to Eric Bittle's for the better part of three months now. 

Over those three months, he’s become quite acquainted with the character of his blonde neighbor. He's now familiar with his small, lithe frame, is quite aware that he can fold his legs into a pretzel even in his swivel chair, and knows when he’s approaching by the scent of butter and sickeningly sweet coffee. He’s well acquainted with his warm Southern tendencies, the subtle drawl over his vowels and the abundant y’alls in every sentence. He knows he always places his coffee to his left, though he's right handed, he likes to write schedules and reminders on sticky notes that fall off of his computer screen and onto Jack’s own desk every-so-often, and that he has a soft spot for Chris Chow, the intern he’s been supervising these past few weeks. He’s even vaguely aware of his amazing pie skills, having tasted some of his baked goods because _oh, no, Mr. Zimmermann, you haven’t lived until you’ve tried this_ , and because they’re ever-present in the snack room beside the plethora of cereals. And also because Eric Bittle has become somewhat of a Youtube celebrity, and everybody and their grandmother knew he was a pie-making prodigy.

God knows why he was placed next to Bittle in the first place. Sure, they were both executive video producers for Tasty—Jack for much longer than him, for sure—but Jack very much preferred to stay behind the camera while Bittle was usually in front of it. Jack mostly liked to keep to himself, anyway, and if he worked in teams, it was usually with Shitty or Lardo on the more artistically demanding videos. They’d been at brainstorms together, almost every other week, really, but never really collaborated on anything. There was also the glaring fact that Bittle tended to mindlessly chatter, and Jack was practically allergic to any and all forms of small talk. Most days, he was just grateful Bittle was so busy, he rarely spent long hours at his own desk.

But he and Bittle sat next to each other everyday, give or take, usually minding their own business, sometimes idly chatting about the new series coming out or their co-workers, with Bittle occasionally shooting him a warm smile and Jack answering it with a trying-hard-to-be-a-smile grimace. They’ve never once been assigned to same project, and Jack isn’t really sure if he’s relieved or dismayed, but he tries not to think about it too hard.

That is… Well. That’s all until one Thursday morning in November.

“It’s your lucky day, Zimmermann,” John Johnson says as he clapped his back. Jack was no longer surprised by Johnson’s sudden visits, as his boss regularly seemed to pop out of nowhere to startle his constituents.

Jack carefully removes his Earpods and turned to face Johnson, trying to school his expression into something a little more cheerful. “What do you have for me?"

Johnson grins. “You’re with Bitty on this next project. He needs a sound and video guy and Nurse is out of town, so this is your chance,” he says, inexplicably waggling his eyebrows.

Jack is mainly confused. “Bitty?” he asks. He’s not sure he’s ever heard that name before.

“Oh, sorry.” Johnson seems to catch himself. “That’s Eric, Eric Bittle.” He gestures to the chair on Jack’s right. “You know each other, yeah?”

Jack feels the blood rush to his face. “Yeah, yeah, of course. I just—ah, I didn’t know he was called that.” His eyebrows furrow.

Johnson nods, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “S’wawesome. You can ask him about the project when he gets here. And don't,” he pauses, giving Jack a stern look, “chicken out, ‘kay? It’s okay to enjoy yourself, Cap. Don’t fight the feeling.” Johnson flashes him one last grin before he’s walking away, not even sparing a look back.

Jack has so many questions. Why did he say "this is your chance"? Chance for what? What was so different about this project that he couldn’t give him an info packet beforehand? Why would Jack chicken out? What do his _feelings_ have to do with anything? And why did he call him Cap?

Before he even has the time to contemplate these questions, he is assaulted by the smell of liberally sweetened coffee. 

“Good mornin’, neighbor!” Eric—Bitty, apparently—says cheerily as he approaches, his customary cup of coffee in his left hand and his right hand waving his phone in greeting.

“Hey.” Jack turns to give Eric his usual small smile. It’s routine at this point. This is how they greet each other most mornings.

“I've got some chocolate chip muffins,” Eric says, his smile blinding as he sets his stuff down on his desk. Cellphone. Coffee cup. Laptop. Two boxes—one full of muffins, and the other, Jack guesses, full of pie. “You want one?”

Jack eyes the box of muffins on Eric's desk skeptically. He'd already had breakfast, but he wasn’t super full and didn't particularly want to hurt Eric's feelings now that they had to work together on a project...

Eric rolls his eyes (fondly, Jack hopes) and places a hand on his hip. “There _might_ be one blueberry, if you would prefer that,” he said, tone teasing. “I know you’re quite the health buff and would hate to disrupt your strict diet plan… or whatever.” He waved his hand dismissively.

Jack laughs, shaking his head. “I'd love one. Thank you,” he said. 

Eric grins triumphantly and picks the corner muffin out of the box to hand over to Jack. 

“Thanks,” Jack says again before setting the muffin on his desk and turning back to his computer. He's only just started to put his Earpods back in when he hears Eric clear his throat. 

“You wouldn't want the muffin to get cold,” Eric mock-pouts, cocking his head toward the offending muffin. 

Jack sighs and picks it up. It is still warm—perfectly warm, Jack thinks, and smells unbelievable as he lifts the muffin up to take a bite. He doesn’t mean to do it, really, but his eyes fall shut at the first taste. “It's delicious,” Jack tells Eric, because it really, truly is. 

Eric beams proudly at Jack. “Thank you.”

Jack tries to match his smile. “I think I should be thanking you, eh?”

“You already have,” Eric says, matter-of-factly. “Twice, actually.”

When Jack realizes he's right, his smile falters. “Oh.” He’s really not good at this… talking stuff. 

Eric laughs at Jack's expense. “But you're very welcome, neighbor. Sorry for interrupting.” He gives Jack a wink and finally— _finally_ —takes a seat at his desk. 

Jack tries to exhale as quietly as he can, placing his Earpods back in and turning back to his computer to get back to editing his video. It's only then it occurs to him to ask about the project Johnson had mentioned. He contemplates leaving it be until later, during lunch maybe, but quickly found a hole in that plan when he realized he had no idea what Eric’s schedule looked like. He might not even be here the rest of today. Might as well get it done and over with right now, while Eric was conveniently situated beside him. 

“Hey, um, Eric?” Jack calls out, but Eric has his headphones on now too and probably can't hear him. 

Jack lets out a sigh and reaches out to tap him on his shoulder. “Hey,” he tries again. 

Eric startles at his light tap, but smiles and pulls off his headphones immediately when he sees it's just Jack. “Yes?”

“I, uh—” Jack feels his tongue turn to lead, for some reason. “Johnson mentioned something about a project?” He clears his throat to try to get rid of the lump that’s formed there. “I mean, a project that we have to work on. Together. Um—”

“Oh!” Eric clasps his hands together. “Yes, thank you for reminding me! Nursey's out in Maine visiting his boyfriend, and I was just wondering if you were available this Saturday to film for me in his place? I understand if it's too short notice, it's just—”

“No, no, it's okay!” Jack insists before Eric can go on any longer. “Really. I'd love to help out.” 

Eric's smile brightens to full wattage. “You're sure? Because I can always just—”

“Bitty,” Jack says, trying it out for himself. “It's Bitty, right?” 

“Yeah.” Eric's cheeks turn a rosy pink as he shrugs. “Yeah, Bitty's what my team calls me.”

“Okay. Bitty.” Jack smiles, liking the way the new nickname rolls off his tongue. “It's fine, I promise. I got your back,” Jack says. 

Eric—Bitty—smiles gratefully. “Thank you, Mr. Zimmermann.” 

“It's Jack,” Jack deadpans. 

That makes Bitty laugh. “Okay. Thank you, Jack.”

“No problem,” Jack says, and means it. It is his job, after all.

* * *

The next day, Jack runs into Bitty—quite literally—in the snack room, because of course.

They say sorry at the exact same time, and step back at the exact same time. It scares Jack a little bit.

“Sorry,” Jack says again, and Bitty laughs.

“If you think you’re gonna out-sorry this Southern gentleman, you’ve got another thing comin’, Mr. French-Canadian,” Bitty jokes.

“Sorry.” There it is again. Jack winces. “Sorry. It’s like a reflex.”

Bitty laughs again. “I know the feeling,” he says. “But it’s fine, Jack.” 

Jack nods jerkily. “Okay. Cool.”

Bitty quirks his eyebrows at him with a slight smile and turns to leave, but Jack catches him by his elbow.

“Um, sorry, it’s just…” Jack releases his grip on Bitty’s arm and meets his eyes. “What are we doing tomorrow? Just so I know what we need.” 

Bitty’s smile turns mischievous. “It’s a surprise.” 

Jack pokes his tongue in his cheek. He doesn’t particularly like surprise videos. He likes to know what is happening and be in control and he was really good at it, which is probably why the higher-ups probably left him alone most of the time. “If it’s a surprise, how do I know what to bring?” 

Bitty seems to consider this. After a second, he clucks his tongue. “Just your usual, I guess. DSLR, tripod, mic. Headphones. Laptop, if you like.”

“No light?”

“Whatever you think you might need, Jack. I trust you.” Bitty pats Jack’s bicep gently.

Realizing he probably won’t get any more information than that, Jack sighs. “Alright. I’ll… see you tomorrow, then?” 

“That you will, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty grins. “That you will.”

* * *

Jack doesn’t smell coffee, or butter, or any kind of baked good when Bitty, GoPro mounted in his right hand, accosts him at his desk the next morning, which is probably why it startles him so much.

“Mr. Zimmermann!” Bitty exclaims, and Jack doesn’t mean to jump at the sound, but he does anyway. “It’s your lucky day!”

Jack squints at the camera, which seems to be recording. His frown is so deep, his brows threaten to meet in the middle. “Bittle. What are you doing.”

Eric’s smile does not falter as he twists over to include himself in the frame, standing right next to Jack’s swivel chair. “How would you feel about going on a food trip?”

“What?” is all Jack manages to hiss. He’s painfully aware that he’s on camera, the blinking light on the GoPro mocking him, and of Bittle less than two feet away and beaming at the camera. He knows, logically, that he can’t lash out at Bittle, because this is his job. Apparently. Because he signed up for this. Technically.

Thankfully, Eric either ignores Jack’s mild agitation or is completely unaware of it. “C’mon, it’ll be fun! Like an adventure,” he says. His excitement would have been endearing had it not been so annoying.

Jack runs a hand through his hair, tugs a little, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. He had not expected to be going on a trip, much less one that featured him in the actual footage, but he did not have it in him to decline. “Fine. What are we eating?” he asks monotonously, instead of the harsh refusal that he kept just under his tongue.

“Pies, of course!” Bitty says this mostly to the camera, eyebrows waggling excessively. He holds his free hand out to Jack. “So are ya comin’ or will I have to drag your butt all the way to the car?”

Jack snorts at the image that pops into his head: the 5’6.5” Eric Bittle pulling 6’1” Jack Zimmermann in his swivel chair across the Buzzfeed parking lot. “As if you could manage that.”

Bitty clutches his chest in mock indignation. “Et tu, Jack Zimmermann?”

Jack shakes his head, but reaches for his equipment under his desk and stands up to full height. Bitty has to adjust his hold on the GoPro to fit the both of them in the frame, but once Jack is up, Bitty grabs his hand and takes off running.

“Okay, let’s go! Chess pie first!” he cheers, and Jack’s breath catches in his throat. He’s pretty sure it’s because of the sudden sprint.

* * *

“Why am I here again?” Jack asks Bitty once he’s seated in the passenger seat of Bitty’s moving five-seater. He fixes his stony gaze at the GoPro, which Bitty had set up on the dashboard (and didn’t have its own mic, so Jack had to set that up, too) just moments ago, still blinking its annoying red light in Jack’s face.

Bitty has his eyes trained on the road, as every other responsible driver would, and seems oblivious to the fact that Jack’s icy tone, was not, in fact, joking. “Nursey’s out of town, so you’re here to help me taste-test three of New York’s finest pies so we can see how they match up to mine!” Bitty’s excitement floods his tone and his features. “It wouldn’t exactly be fair if it was just me the whole time, now, would it?” 

Jack nods once to acknowledge the fact. “Right.” He looks out at the window for something to concentrate on other than the incessant blinking of the camera, but something else dawns on him. “So, what, I’m just your back-up?” he says, raising an eyebrow at Bitty.

“Ummm…..” Bitty’s eyes dart from left to right, hamming up avoiding Jack’s stare for the camera. “At least I’m taking you out for pie!” 

Jack huffs a laugh, thinking that it’s enough talk for at least a few minutes, so he goes back to looking out his window. There’s a short silence before he hears Bitty clear his throat.

When Jack looks back over at him, Bitty has the courtesy to look sheepish. “Actually, you were my first choice,” he says, shrugging. “Johnson didn’t tell you?” 

Jack blinks. “But you just said—” 

“That Nursey’s out of town. He’s my usual partner for most of my tutorial videos so people might be expecting him, but I’ve seen your stuff, Mr. Zimmermann.” Bitty glances over at Jack. “You’re amazing at what you do.” 

Jack lets a smile slip despite himself. “Thanks, Bittle.” 

“Well, that and I kind of took a bet with Shitty Knight from H.R. that he can’t have any more of my pies if I somehow got you on camera, so I think I owe you one. Sorry ‘bout that,” Bitty says, but his smile doesn’t look apologetic at all.

Jack makes a mental note to leaf pile Shitty as soon as they get back to office. “So where are we going?”

Bitty checks his phone, which is mounted on the far left of the dashboard. “First stop is Petee’s Pie Company, which is a crowd favorite. I already love it there, actually—Petra is such a sweetheart—but I couldn’t not have it in this video,” he says. “Have you ever been?”

Jack shakes his head. “Not that big of a pie guy, honestly.” 

“Which is why you’re perfect for this! If my pies haven’t converted you, Petra's might actually do the trick.”

Jack wants to say he loved Bitty’s pies every time he’s had them, that them being good had nothing to do with them being extremely unhelpful to his diet, that they were gastronomical and that he doubted anything else might compare, but it all sounds too weird and sincere in his head. The rest of the drive to Petee’s Pie Company is short, just a little less than ten minutes, so instead of baring all, Jack lets Bitty drown the silence with his excited chatter. 

(When they arrive, Jack reminds Bitty that he’ll need a mic for sound mixing. He doesn’t miss the tiny blush that appears on Bitty’s cheeks when he asks Jack for help slipping it underneath his shirt and clipping it to his collar.)

Bitty goes in first to greet Petra while Jack fixes up his equipment. Once he has his camera mounted (and after he’s made sure that the blinking light on the GoPro is gonezo), he gets out of the car to take some location shots of the quaint little shop with a cutesy minimalist black-and-white awning. Once he’s satisfied with his few seconds of footage, he finally makes his way into the shop.

The shop is small but open, with just the counter to separate the kitchen from the rest of the space. Bitty’s already set up a tripod (from where? Jack has no clue) in the center of the kitchen and is happily exchanging stories with a young woman—Petra (or Petee?) most likely—until the bells above the door signal Jack’s entry.

“Jack!” Bitty calls (as if they’re not the only ones in the shop at the moment), motioning him over to join them. “Petee, this is Jack Zimmermann,” he says as Jack reaches out to shake Petee’s hand. “Jack, this is Petra Paredez, the owner of this wonderful store.”

“Great to meet you,” Petee smiles warmly at Jack. “Your videos are amazing! The series you did with your mom in Montreal was just gorgeous, I kept nagging my husband to take me as soon as possible,” she gushes, and Jack tries his best not to blush.

“Thank you,” Jack says, because after all these years, he still doesn’t know how to handle compliments. “I’m really looking forward to trying your pie. Bittle says it’s great here.”

“Does he, now?” Petee gives Bitty a look, at which Bitty rolls his eyes, before gesturing over to the counter. “Alright, shall we?” 

Jack takes this as his cue to set up. He wanders with the handheld mount, following Petra around the kitchen and filming every part of the process that she demonstrates. He starts the stand-alone camera as she details how the shop started and talks about the flavors that are available everyday, while Bitty is his outgoing self, magically making the conversation flow smoothly.

“So what flavors will we be having today?” Bitty asks Petra excitedly.

Petra smiles. “Well, the crowd favorite seems to be the Salted Chocolate Chess, so that’s going first, and then you’ll have the classic Hudson Valley Apple Pie.” Jack actually zones out while she explains the ingredients of each pie, focusing instead on the viewfinder monitor in front of him and how the light seems to play off of Bitty’s hair, but Bitty’s voice snaps him back to the present.

“Sounds amazing!” Bitty gushes, and nods at Jack to signal him to cut. Jack allows himself to be surprised at how easily he can read Bitty’s signals, especially since they’ve never worked together before.

After Bitty and Petra have plated the pies and Jack has gotten enough close-up shots of the (extremely photogenic) slices, Jack situates himself behind the main camera and starts filming. He lifts the other camera in his hands to check the angle for a close-up, but through the viewfinder, he sees Bitty shaking his head in disapproval.

“Oh, no, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty tuts from the bar where he’s seated. “You’re trying these with me.” He pats the stool right next to him, and Jack groans.

“Isn’t it enough that you have me on camera every time we ride the car?” Jack all but whines. 

Bitty snorts. “Your face is a waste hiding behind that camera. We can’t have the money shots if you’re not in them,” Bitty teases, and Jack hears Petee stifling a laugh behind him. He doesn’t really know how to react to that—compliment?—so he doesn’t. “‘Sides, it would be completely biased for me to try these, because I’ve been having them for over a year now.” 

Bitty has a point, but Jack’s prepared with another argument. He lifts the camera in his hands and shrugs. “We don’t have anyone else to work the second angle,” he says matter-of-factly. Bitty’s face falls for a split second, and for some reason, that makes him want to take back everything he’s just said. “But I’ll try them afterwards, I promise,” he adds.

Bitty sighs and concedes. Just like that, it’s like a switch is flicked on, and Bitty cranks his camera presence to ten levels higher than before. The faces he makes as he goes through each pie are—objectively, Jack tells himself—adorable, and he’s using such a wide vocabulary to describe how they taste. Jack smiles, just obscured by the camera he’s working, because Bitty’s so enjoyable to watch.

“Jack, you have to try this,” Bitty says after describing in great detail how the apple pie he’s eating just _doesn’t fall apart_. 

Jack relents, checks for sure that the main camera is still going, and then steps a little into frame, just enough for his face to be seen. He somehow forgets that he’s carrying a bunch of equipment and can’t really fork his own piece, but Bitty is already leaning towards him with a steaming forkful before Jack can even think of what to do. Bitty makes eye contact with Jack as he feeds him, and he’s smiling softly, like an inside joke.

Jack can’t help that he licks his lips afterwards. (He felt some filling at the corner of his mouth, he swears.) He also can’t help the moan that escapes his mouth at first taste, but luckily he’s out of frame for that one.

Bitty laughs his bright, radiant laugh at Jack’s reaction. “See. Told ya Petee could convert you,” he says proudly.

Jack laughs along nervously, because _why was he feeling tingly in his finger tips_ , and because Petra is laughing from her spot behind the counter.

“You two are adorable,” she comments nonchalantly, and it causes both Jack and Bitty to freeze. 

“Oh, we’re not—”

“He’s not—”

Petra waves their sputtering off, rolling her eyes. “Relax. I’m just stating facts here,” she says. 

Jack bites his lip and sees Bitty glaring at Petra in his peripheral vision. He turns around at just the right time to catch Bitty mouthing “traitor” at Petra, and doesn’t allow himself to think about it too much.

He does have another bite of the apple pie, because it’s damn good and he figures he might as well take Johnson’s advice and actually enjoy himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the places in this fic are real, btw! Even Petra is real hahaha I've been doing a butt ton of research but sadly I've never been to New York (where this whole thing is set) so please bear with me. Research can only get me so far.
> 
> ANYWAY in the meantime if you guys wanna talk about these dorks with me you can hmu on tumblr [here](http://zimmerhomme.tumblr.com/)! <3 thanks for reading!


	2. Milk Bar

The GoPro light is blinking in Jack’s face again.

For some reason, it’s less threatening now. It's almost as if he’s finally made peace with the fact that this is his fate: that incessant recording light will mostly likely be the last thing he sees before he dies.

To his left, Bitty fiddles with his phone before putting it in its stand on the dashboard. The speakers suddenly start playing a soft, classical-sounding tune. Jack’s about to say that he didn’t have Bittle pegged as the classical kind when a backbeat kicks in, along with a gliding piano piece and a little violin. It shouldn’t work, but it really, really does, and it sounds even better when the vocals start.

He's both startled and completely unsurprised when Bitty starts singing along loudly. 

“I CAN SEE YOUR HALO!!! C'mon, Jack!” Bitty urges in between lyrics. “Sing with me! It can be like Carpool Karaoke!”

Jack frowns at Bitty. “Carpool... Karaoke?”

Bitty glances at him quickly. “Yeah, haven't you seen those videos? James Corden?”

The name rings a dull, distant bell, but Jack shakes his head. 

Bitty gasps, alternating his attention between Jack and the road. “Oh my lord. Please tell me you _at least_ know this song.”

Jack looks away from Bitty, his lips in a straight line, and Bitty gasps again. 

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann!” he exclaims, hitting Jack on his arm repeatedly, all the while miraculously keeping his eyes on the road.

“I'm sorry!” Jack raises both his hands up in surrender. “Is it like Taylor Swift or something?” 

Bitty's eyes get inexplicably larger somehow and Jack swears he can see him vibrating. “What. Did. You. Just. Say.”

“I... Was that not it?” 

Bitty takes a deep breath and it comes out shaky. “Please promise me you will never blaspheme like this again.” 

Jack is completely bewildered at this point. “What? What did I do?” 

“What did you do? _What did you do_?” If this was a cartoon (or, say, a comic), Bitty would have steam pouring out of his ears. “You just called Beyoncé, queen of this universe _and my heart_ , by the name of some white trash country-turned-pop singer! You should be ashamed!”

Jack... doesn't know what to say to that. “Look, I'm sorry.” 

Bitty huffs and nods solemnly. “As you should be.” 

There's just a beat of silence before they both bust out laughing, and just like that, the ice has been broken. 

Jack laughs so hard it actually surprises him—he doesn't remember the last time he laughed this hard, that's if he has ever laughed this hard. Bitty is hysterical, bent over the wheel, clutching his stomach, and gasping for air. 

“Oh, honey, I am so—sorry,” Bitty barely chokes out when he's not as hysterical. “It's just—Beyoncé is just so—” 

“I get it,” Jack exhales when they've somehow calmed down. At least, he thinks he gets it. “Don't worry about it.” He gives Bitty a smile of reassurance. 

Bitty beams back. Jack realizes, not for the first time, how—objectively—attractive Bitty is, especially when he’s smiling. His eyes crinkle and his smile is a little lopsided, but it works. Feeling a little weird about that realization, he redirects the conversation.

“So, where are we going now?” Jack asks, because Bitty has yet to mention their destination.

“Momofuku Milk Bar!” Bitty says excitedly. “It’s this collaboration between David Chang and Christina Tosi—” 

“Christina Tosi?” Jack cuts him off at the mention of her name. “I know her.”

Bitty rolls his eyes grandly, not even sparing him a sideways glance. “You’re kidding me, right? There is no way you don’t know Beyoncé but know Christina Tosi. There’s just no way,” he says, shaking his head.

“No, I’m serious!” Jack’s eyebrows hike up to his forehead. “She was on like… Masterchef or something, yeah? And my mom _loves_ that show so she reached out to her. She sent us a couple cook books and they met in LA last year. My dad tries to make her cookies all the time, but they’re never as good as when she makes them herself.”

Bitty’s jaw drops open. “Okay, I have no idea when you had the time to Google that or how, but I don’t buy it.”

Jack laughs incredulously. “Bittle, I swear. Why would I lie about this? I can call my mom if you don’t believe me.”

“You’re bluffing,” Bitty says, waving him off.

Jack groans. “I’m serious!” he insists, getting a little frustrated. This is kind of ridiculous, if he’s being honest, but if anything, he can’t stand being called a liar. He pulls out his phone and navigates his contacts to find his mother. 

Bitty looks over at Jack when he realizes he’s been far too quiet. Jack watches as Bitty follows his phone’s movement from his lap to his ear and Bitty’s eyes go wide. “Jack, no—”

Alicia picks up on the second ring. “Bonjour, maman,” Jack says into his phone, smirking at Bitty, who is scowling. He quickly puts the call on speaker and sets his phone down on the console between them.

“Hey,” Alicia says through the tinny speakers. “Is everything okay?” She sounds a little worried.

Jack sighs and quickly wonders, as always, if he can ever call his mom without worrying her first. “Yeah, ma, everything’s great. Hey, so, you know Christina Tosi, right?” 

Alicia pauses, probably confused by the question. “I mean, yeah?” she says, her tone unsure. 

“As in you know _know_ her, as in you’re kind of friends with her, right?” Jack prods, glancing at Bitty, who is looking a little embarrassed.

Bitty shakes his head at his ridiculousness. “I hate you,” he mouths, and Jack grins triumphantly.

“Yes, Jack,” Alicia says, sounding a little exasperated and a little amused. “Why the sudden interest?” 

“Oh, no reason,” Jack says casually. “It’s just I have a friend here and he refuses to believe that I knew who Christina Tosi was without Googling her first.” He looks pointedly at Bitty. “We’re on our way to Milk Bar, by the way.” 

Alicia laughs. “Jack, dear, you are ridiculous.” 

Bitty laughs with her. “Tell me about it, Mrs. Zimmermann,” he says, sounding completely as if he and Jack’s mom have been friends all along.

“That's Eric,” Jack says. “We’re working on this pie thing for Tasty.” 

Alicia hums on the line. “It’s great to meet you, Eric! But Alicia is fine, I know Mrs. Zimmermann is a mouthful."

Bitty looks a little dazed at being directly addressed, despite his earlier comment. “That’s so sweet of you, ma’am, but my mother will have my hide if I call you anything but.” 

Alicia snorts. “I insist, dear,” she says to Bitty, who shrugs and finally acquiesces with a _yes, ma’am_. Jack can practically hear her smile as she code-switches to address Jack. “Take me off speaker, love,” she tells Jack in French, and he complies, pressing the phone to his ear.

“Oui, maman?”

“Jack, love, are you hiding a boy from us?” she tuts fondly.

Jack feels the blood drain from his face and prays that Bitty doesn’t notice. He replies in staggered French so Bitty can’t understand. “It’s—Maman, it’s not like that, I swear. This is a project—for work. You’ll see it in a couple weeks,” he promises. 

“Is he cute?” his mom prods.

Jack groans. “ _Maman_."

Alicia sighs. “Okay. Sorry, chouchou. Got a little excited there,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. “You two enjoy the rest of your trip, ‘kay? Tell me all about it later.” 

Jack rolls his eyes but nods as if his mother could see him. “Ouais, maman. Merci. Je t’aime aussi,” he says before hanging up.

Bitty breaks the silence a few seconds later. “I cannot believe you called _Alicia Zimmermann_ just to prove a point.” He shakes his head in disbelief.

Jack shrugs. “You asked for it.” 

“I did _not_ —” 

“We’re here,” Jack interjects, and true enough, they actually are. Bitty grumbles about a dumb omniscient French-Canadian whose mother is friends with everyone as he finds an appropriate parking space across the street, but he casually waits around for Jack to grab all his stuff and take a few outside shots so that they make their way into the café together. 

Milk Bar’s facade is deceivingly small—just your typical glass window with a neon sign and a simple black awning—but Jack is pleasantly surprised to find that the inside is actually quite spacious. There are three large wooden tables at the center of the room—no chairs, which Jack thinks is sorta smart—with the counter in the corner and a coffee bar adjacent to it. The place has an overall industrial feel, but it still manages to come off as kind of homey somehow. Jack makes a small noise of approval when he finds that it photographs nicely and the lighting is pretty great.

“Hi, my name’s Eric Bittle. Would you happen to know where I can find one Ms. Emily Gomez?” Bitty says pleasantly when they’ve approached the counter.

The guy at the counter flashes a winning smile at Eric, not even glancing at Jack, and chucks his thumb behind him. “She just went out back for a second, but I can go get her for you,” he offers, shamelessly making eyes at Eric, and Jack tries his hardest not to cringe.

“That would be great, thank you!” Bitty grins at the guy as Jack sizes him up—green eyes, light brown hair, decently tall. Overall, not bad, but also not good enough for Bitty. 

Jack contemplates what exactly would be good enough for Bitty and why he has an opinion on that just as Green Eyed Counter Guy returns with a short black-haired, olive-skinned woman with manic eyes.

“Em!” Bitty all but shrieks, and “Em” runs out from the behind the counter to catch Bitty in a hug. Jack’s still watching Counter Guy, who is openly watching Bitty.

“Long time no see, boo,” she says when they pull away, hands still linked. Eric throws an arm over her shoulder and turns them to face Jack.

“Jack, this is Em,” Bitty says, gesturing accordingly. “Em, you know—”

“Jack Zimmermann? Of course, Bitty, this man is a god among men.” Em looks up (and up and up) at Jack, smiling warmly.

Jack feels his face heat, but he extends a hand for her to shake. “Nice to meet you,” he says, smiling a little.

“Hey, if you ever need embarrassing Bitty stories,” Em fake-whispers, “I’m your girl.” She winks at Jack, who laughs.

Bitty elbows her side, shaking his head. “I knew it was a mistake introducing you,” he sighs. “The chirps will be endless.” 

That has Em launch into a story about the first time Bitty had to operate a professional DSLR. “He put it on auto, Jack. _Auto_.”

Jack raises an eyebrow at Bitty to confirm, and Bitty visibly blushes in response. He’s trying to listen to Em, really, but Bitty is rolling his eyes at him and smiling his secret smile again, and Jack finds that he can’t really help but smile back.

* * *

It turns out Em also used to work as a video producer at Buzzfeed, but quickly got sick of the fact that she couldn’t really take credit for any of the videos she made. Jack knew a lot of people who eventually left Buzzfeed because they found that lack of recognition greatly limiting, and he understood why. But for someone like Jack—born into a spotlight that followed him everywhere—this kind of anonymity was not only welcome, but actually appreciated. 

It was pretty common knowledge that hockey wunderkind Jack Zimmermann, son of fashion superstar Alicia Zimmermann and living legend Bad Bob Zimmermann, had overdosed when he was 18 and just about to get drafted to the NHL. What _wasn’t_ common knowledge, however, was that Jack hadn’t overdosed on coke, or meth, or any other kind of party drug—he overdosed on his anxiety meds. The weight of the pressure he was feeling—from himself or otherwise—became too much at one point, and while he'd never meant to kill himself, he had wanted everything to stop. After going to rehab and starting therapy, Jack had slowly learned how to embrace other passions that weren’t ice-related. He quickly fell in love with photography and film, drawn pretty much by the aesthetic of it at first, and then eventually because the technique, patience, and creativity involved was fascinating. Jack found the near-anonymity and lack of pressure refreshing, because for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel like he had anything to prove to anyone. 

It seemed that as quickly as he had learned to love film, film loved him right back. After graduating from Samwell University with a degree in history and a minor in film (and a Matthew Earl Rupert Award for captaining the hockey team, because of course he still loved it), he did a few passion projects, mostly short films and documentaries about fellow athletes he knew, instead of going to the NHL. Now, contrary to popular belief, Jack Zimmermann is not good at everything—just the things he is most passionate about. Needless to say, Jack had a real eye for cinematography, and that, combined with his meticulous editing and a little help from his friends, made for some pretty incredible projects. Some of his short films got traction on social media, gaining a small following from hockey and non-hockey fans alike on Youtube, where he would post ten-minute videos of his travels to different places, the people he got to meet, and the stories they had to tell. He received an email from Buzzfeed a few months later, asking if he wanted to work with them for a short series of videos. Eventually, they asked him if he wanted to work with them full-time.

And that was how he found himself, two years later, getting fed another spoonful of pie by one Eric R. Bittle in front of two cameras. Em had insisted on taking the handheld, which Jack had originally vetoed, but after Bitty showed Jack some of Em’s previous work, Jack no longer had a reason to hide behind. Or a camera, for that matter.

Jack wrinkles his nose a little and nods while he chews. He was trying Milk Bar’s famous Crack Pie ( _Haha, what will everyone say when they see me trying Crack_ , he jokes to himself, and then shakes the thought away before it can get any darker) and while it was a little too sweet for his taste, he did still quite enjoy it. He’s grateful for a second that he hadn’t asked for his own slice instead of agreeing to share one with Bitty, because he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to finish it.

“That’s really good,” he says out loud for the audience’s sake.

Bitty laughs, cocks his head to the side. “Really? That’s all?” 

Jack frowns at him. “What were you expecting me to say?” He picks his voice up an octave higher and looks at Em behind the camera. “ _Mmm, the filling is so rich and gooey but also creamy and light,_ how do they do that? _And the crust is set perfectly, it’s honestly phenomenal,_ ” he mimics, taking another bite of the pie, just to sell it. “Y’all _have_ to try this. Drop whatever you’re doing and come to New York right this instant.”

Em covers her mouth and hunches over in laughter, desperately trying to limit it to the silent wheezy type. Beside him, Bitty gasps in offense.

“Bless your heart, I sound nothing like that,” he huffs, crossing his arms.

Em chooses this moment to pipe up. “Actually…” 

Jack beams at her. “Two to one, Bittle,” he says, shrugging innocently. 

Bittle opens his mouth to say something when Green Eyed Counter Guy, who has been watching from behind his counter this whole time, interjects. “I think Eric sounds great,” he says, and Jack hopes the mic didn’t catch that so he wouldn’t have to edit it in.

Bitty smirks up at Jack. “Tied, Mr. Zimmermann,” he says, raising a thumbs up to Counter Guy, who winks at Bitty. Jack takes a deep breath instead of rolling his eyes. “But what did you really think?” 

“I like it,” Jack says, looking back down at the pie. It’s a pretty straightforward pie, not as photogenic at the previous ones because all of it is just one color plus confectioners' sugar, but still really tasty. He understands the hype. “It’s really simple. Not too flashy. Filling, too. Although it might be a little too sweet for my taste.”

Bitty nods. “Fair enough. Well, there you have it, folks,” he says, turning to the main camera. “Jack Zimmermann approves!” 

Jack turns to the camera and gives a thumbs up, his face completely stoic, which makes Bitty laugh. Em raises an eyebrow at Bitty, at which he nods, so she cuts the footage on the handheld and then on the one on the tripod. 

“You guys look great together,” she comments, approaching Jack to hand him the camera she’s holding. “You sure this is the first video you’re doing?” 

Jack thinks he sees Bitty’s cheeks turn pink. “Yeah,” Bitty says, almost shyly. “It’s kind of crazy, considering we’ve been sitting next to each other at work for the past three months.” 

Em raises both eyebrows. “Oh, well, that explains it. You seem really comfortable around each other,” she comments. “It’s actually really great. This is gonna be a great series, you guys.” 

Jack wants to correct her to say that it’s not a series, it’s a single video that he’s _not even supposed to be in_ , but he smiles at her instead. “Thanks for the help, Em,” he says. “Except for when you threw me under the bus there.” He mock-glares at her for the full effect.

Em laughs, spreading her hands. “It’ll get you more views, guaranteed. You can thank me later.” 

“Oh!” Bitty suddenly perks up. “I’m so sorry for forgetting to ask. I got this for little Liza—” 

Jack watches as Bitty leads Em to the table where all their stuff is to reach into his bag and hand Em a small, neatly-wrapped gift. Em gushes when she sees it, telling Bitty he shouldn’t have, and Jack is a little amazed how thoughtful Bitty is. He’s not sure he’s ever met anyone else (aside from his parents, actually) who always has something to give everyone ever.

Jack glances over to the wall clock, which reads just a little after 12. Thinking it might be nice to have some real food for a change, he goes up to the counter, where Counter Guy still has his eyes on Bitty. Jack spots his name tag for the first time. Jared, it reads. 

Jack clears his throat. “Um. Hey. Can I have one bagel bomb, one egg and cheddar bomb, and one cereal milk soft serve, please?” 

Counter Guy—Jared—blinks at Jack, apparently noticing him for the first time. “Oh, yeah. Sure, man,” he says, ringing him up. “That’s… thirteen dollars.” 

Jack hands him a twenty and rests his elbow on the counter to check back on Bitty as he waits for his change and food. 

“You’re not dating him, are you?” Jared asks him as he hands him his change, which makes Jack choke on his own saliva.

“What? No.” He shakes his head for emphasis. That’s the second time today someone thought they were together. Jack wonders why.

“Is he seeing anybody?”

Jack pauses. Bitty’s never mentioned anybody, but then again, they’ve never really broached the subject. “Not.. that I know of?” he says, unsure.

“Hm,” Jared says. “Interesting.” 

Jack gives him a questioning look, narrowing his eyes, which Jared answers with a confident smile. 

“Don’t worry, man. I’m not thinking of doing anything,” Jared reassures him, handing him his cup of soft serve and two paper bags. “Just enjoying the view.” 

Jack doesn’t understand the disclaimer. “I wasn’t going to stop you—” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jared insists with no heat in his tone. “Enjoy your food.” 

Jack frowns, but stuffs all of his change into the tip jar anyway and makes his way over to Bitty and Em. 

Bitty smiles at him over Em’s shoulder. “What’s that?” he asks, tiptoeing a little to get a better view.

Jack raises his hands full of food. “I got you a bagel bomb. And ice cream, if you want.” 

Bitty’s eyes widen. “Oh, you didn’t have to—” 

Jack cuts him off with a smile of his own, handing him the bagel bomb over the table. “I owe you one,” he says. “You’ve fed me two slices of pie today. I think this is calling it even.” 

Bitty eyes the paper bag skeptically, before sighing and taking it. “Thank you,” he says, smiling at Jack.

Em looks between the two of them, smiling to herself, and taps Bitty on the shoulder. “Actually, I’ve got a batch of cookies in the oven I gotta check, but don’t leave without saying bye, ‘kay?” 

Bitty looks practically appalled at the thought that she’s asking for his permission. “Oh my god, go ahead, dear!” Bitty says, practically swatting her away.

Em chuckles. “Enjoy your bombs,” she says to the both of them, throwing a smirk at Bitty over her shoulder as she walks back to the kitchen.

“She’s really nice,” Jack comments when she’s out of sight.

Bitty sighs, starting to unwrap his bagel bomb. “Yeah, Em is an angel. She was actually one of my first friends at Buzzfeed,” he says. 

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you friends with everyone?” 

Bitty snorts. “Lord, no.” He takes a bite out of his food, eyes rolling back into his head for a second as he savors it. His eyes snap open when Jack laughs. “Oh my god, how rude of me. Please tell me you got one for yourself.”

Jack holds up his own paper bag. “Egg and cheddar.”

“Well, go ahead, then,” Bitty prompts.

Jack watches Bitty watch him as he takes a bite, and the Sriracha cream cheese filling instantly takes him back to his college days. His eyes flutter shut and he moans involuntarily. “Shit, that’s good.”

Bitty only laughs, nodding in agreement. “What about you?” he asks Jack as he tucks into his own bun, not breaking eye contact.

Jack lowers his bun mid-chew. “Wha?” he asks, mouth still filled.

“First of all, ew,” Bitty cringes, which only makes Jack start to chew obnoxiously loud. “I meant, who was your first friend at Buzzfeed?” he clarifies.

“Um.” Jack pokes his tongue into his cheek as he considers the question. “I’m not sure if Shitty and Lardo count, since I’ve known them since college.” 

Bitty raises an eyebrow, resting his chin on his hands with his elbows on the table. “What was Shitty Knight like in college?” 

“Well,” Jack starts before stuffing the rest of the bun into his mouth. (It was really good.) “Pretty much the same, actually. Just with a lot less clothes.” 

Bitty laughs. “Yeah, that sounds like him.” 

“He has some problems understanding the boundaries of personal space sometimes,” Jack agrees. “But he’s easy to talk to. He was my first friend at college for sure. Didn’t really seem to have a problem approaching the stoic Canadian hockey robot,” he jokes. 

Bitty smiles the inside joke smile and looks up at Jack through his long eyelashes, and he somehow Jack’s accepted that it will always put the tingly feeling in his fingertips, regardless of the reason. “You went to Samwell, too, right?”

“Too?” Jack repeats. He’s eyeing the ice cream now, and Bitty gestures that he should go ahead.

“Yep,” Bitty confirms, popping the p. “I think I missed you by a year or so?”

“No way, when were you a frog?” Jack tries a spoonful of the cereal milk, and _wow_ if that name wasn’t accurate.

Bitty taps his chin. “Gee, like... 2013?”

“But I graduated in 2015.” Jack frowns. “It’s a small population. How did we not run into each other?” 

Bitty looks at him patronizingly. “Oh, honey. A big-shot hockey player and a Southern baker? Under what circumstance would we have met?”

Jack looks down at his cup of (really delicious) ice cream. “I majored in history,” he says defensively. “You were—what, American Studies? There’s some overlap there.”

A smirk grows on Bitty’s face. “Why do you know my major?” 

“Um…” Jack is staring into his half-empty cup. “Shitty… might’ve mentioned it,” he says slowly, because there was no way he was going to admit that he had read that as he skimmed through Bitty’s Wikipedia page while still managing to miss that they shared an alma mater.

“Huh,” Bitty says, which steals Jack’s attention from his ice cream. Bitty drops his hands to rest on the table and opens his mouth, like he’s asking for some. Jack hesitates but eventually dips his spoon into the cup and feeds some to Bitty. He taps the corner of his lip tell Bitty he has a little smudge of ice cream there, and watches as Bitty licks it away.

Now, Jack hasn’t been on very many dates, but he thinks this is suspiciously starting to feel like one. The driving together, the easy conversation, the sharing food. Feels like a date.

Even though it’s not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. again i’ve never been to new york, so the things i couldn’t research, i just made up. i have no idea how roads or parking works for you guys so if anything is off, i’m suuuuper open to learning  
> 2\. MOMOFUKU MILK BAR SOUNDS CRAZY GOOD Y'ALL someone try it and let me know  
> 3\. if anyone cares, i had envisioned jack’s youtube channel to have jacksgap-esque videos, especially their 24 Hours in ____, Following Heart, and Rickshaw Run series, because i love the harries twins and i feel like jack wouldn’t be the type to do just-for-fun videos, especially since he has a p good cause to support (and also what a coincidence!! JACKsgap hahahaha bye)  
> 4\. my boy jacky z LOVES food, k, just not pie (unless it’s bitty’s). let him live


	3. The Dutch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!! i’ve had more than half of it written for over a week now but I kinda got stuck and school’s been kicking my ass. But here it is! Mostly edited but if you find something please let me know! Enjoyyyy

Bitty has Beyoncé playing in the car again.

Jack barely notices the GoPro light blinking on the dashboard anymore. He’s more concentrated on the song that’s playing softly through the speakers, and why it sounds so familiar. Beyoncé’s vocals are lighter on this one, almost tender, which is heavily contrasted by the snare-heavy drum pattern going on. Jack’s pretty sure he’s heard these words before... somewhere.

“This sounds familiar,” Jack says out loud, just to see if Bitty might know why.

Bitty hums. “Maybe you’ve heard the original version?” he suggests. “This was originally a John Mayer song.” 

Jack makes a noise of assent, the name clicking puzzle pieces in his head. “Ah.” 

He listens as Beyoncé tries to convince her lover (who Jack vaguely remembers shares his initials, or something like that) to kiss her “before their time has run out” and to “love her lights out.” Jack takes the time to appreciate the simplicity of the lyrics and wonders what it might be like to be in love the way the song describes it.

“I think I like the John Mayer version better,” he comments when the song is finished. “Sounds a little more raw, you know? More… sincere.”

“Huh.” Bitty tips his head thoughtfully. “I didn’t think you knew anyone from this century.” 

Jack recognizes the chirp and scoffs. “You think I could work at Buzzfeed and not know anyone from this century?” 

Bitty narrows his eyes at Jack. “Then how come you don’t know Beyoncé?” 

Jack exhales loudly. “I know _of_ Beyoncê,” he whines defensively. “I just… can’t recognize her music.”

Bitty purses his lips. “Well, we can fix that, at least,” he says, reaching over to pat Jack’s hand on his lap. On anyone else, especially Jack, that move would have looked painfully awkward to execute, but Bitty does it with the same grace as always. “First with the irrefutable fact that her version of XO is leagues better than John Mayer’s.”

“Mmm. Debatable.” Jack still feels Bitty’s handprint burn on the spot he had patted, so he smooths his own hand over his jeans in a vain attempt to get rid of it.

“Nope.” Bitty scoffs indignantly. “That is most definitely _not_ up for debate,” he says, chin up but a smile threatening to break any second.

Jack’s just oddly relieved he’s not really mad, so he shrugs noncommittally. “Sure.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Bitty break out in a full grin, probably satisfied with Jack’s amicable submission. Jack lets the next song (something that has Beyoncé passionately and inexplicably singing about algebra?) fill the silence, until it dawns on him to ask: “Hey, where are we going?” 

Bitty’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, shoot! Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “Last stop is The Dutch, over at Sullivan. It’s this pretty swanky restaurant known pretty much for their oysters and fried chicken, but their pies are really great, too.” He quirks his eyebrows at Jack. “Or… so I’ve been told.” 

Jack nods. “So, oysters, fried chicken, and pie. Makes sense.” 

“You shush!” Bitty scolds lightly. “Don’t knock it ’til you try it and all that jazz.” 

“No, I just mean,” Jack says, flipping his phone in his hands because that’s how he gets when he’s somehow misunderstood and has to explain himself. “Historically, it does make sense. Pies were originally filled with meat in ancient Greece, sometimes even seafood.” 

A flash of recognition appears on Bitty’s face. “Did you ever take Professor Atley’s class at Samwell? Women, Food and—” 

“American Culture,” Jack finishes. He stops flipping his phone to study Bitty’s profile carefully. “Yeah. When did you take it?”

“Um… fall semester, 2015?”

Jack shakes his head incredulously, leaning back into his seat. “Unbelievable.” 

Bitty throws him a quick glance with an unsure half-smile. “What?” 

“Me too.” 

The revelation stuns Bitty into a few seconds of silence. “No way.”

Honestly, Jack can’t believe it either. “ _Yes_ way.” 

“But—” 

“Yeah, we probably weren’t in the same lecture,” Jack says. “Which is crazy, because I know Atley only handled two that term. I was in the 8 am class,” he volunteers, somewhat uselessly because he now knows Bitty was probably— 

“2 pm at Schmitt,” Bitty says, a little dazed. “There was no way I was taking an 8 am class, especially considering I bribed my way into that one.” He furrows his brow, and then looks at Jack. “So you were right about the overlap.” 

Jack unconsciously mimics Bitty’s awed expression. “I guess… But now I’m just thinking about how useful you might have been right about then,” he admits truthfully. “That pie project kicked mine and Shitty’s ass big time.” He pictures the C he got on that project and shudders.

Bitty laughs, and Jack thinks he likes the sound of that over any Beyoncé (or John Mayer) song ever.

* * *

“Hey, Jack,” Bitty says two songs later, when Beyoncé is asking her driver to roll up the partition, please.

“Yeah?” 

“What’s your favorite fruit?” 

Jack was… not expecting that question. “What?” 

“Your favorite fruit,” Bitty repeats, glancing at Jack with one corner of his mouth tipped up.

“Um…” Jack doesn’t really have a favorite fruit. He eats most of them without any particular preference and likes them all the same. He's never really given much thought to favorites, but right now, he wishes he had. “I like… apples?” he says, and then mentally smacks himself in the head for giving such a lame answer. “And strawberries, I guess.” 

Bitty hums thoughtfully. “And what about grapes?” 

“Uh, sure?” Jack knits his eyebrows. “I… I mean, yeah, I like grapes.” 

“Great,” Bitty says without further explanation. Jack figures he’ll find out later and doesn’t question it.

* * *

More or less a song later: “Bitty?” 

“Yes?”

“What’s your favorite?” Jack asks. “Fruit, I mean.” He’s spinning his phone in his hands again, just a little embarrassed he forgot to ask back in the first place.

Bitty laughs musically at Jack’s awkward attempt at conversation. “Nothin’ quite like a perfectly ripe Georgia peach,” he says, hamming up his accent and looking straight into the camera. “But… I like apples, too.” The return of the inside joke smile. “Apples are great.”

* * *

Turns out Bitty had a reason for asking.

“What the fuck is a Grapple?” Jack asks, squinting down at the (gorgeously appetizing) pie directly in front of him. He tests a few shots on it, and they come out great.

“It’s what it says on the tin,” Bitty says from behind Jack. “Looks like an apple, tastes like a grape. But I don’t think they use the supermarket Grapples here.” 

“Supermarket…?” Jack frowns. “They sell these at the supermarket?” 

“Yeah, like… they’re just mass-produced artificially-flavored apples,” Bitty explains. “I think here, they actually soak the apples in grape juice, though. We’ll see.” 

Bitty (by some insane miracle) didn’t have a friend at The Dutch, so they were ushered in and toured around by the manager, whose name was Mike. Mike was a smartly-dressed middle aged man with dark hair and kind eyes, probably a few years Jack’s senior, and spoke with a smooth, deep voice that Jack personally thought was gonna sound great on tape. 

(“You ever considered a career in, like, radio?” Jack had asked him casually when Mike was showing them around the kitchen. Mike just laughed and shook his head. “I don’t think I can handle that sort of pressure,” he said, and Jack thought that was both incredibly relatable but also ironic, considering managing a restaurant was a pretty stressful job.) 

Mike had toured them around the restaurant (lighting great for coloring), bar (photogenic as hell), and kitchen (super clean), detailing The Dutch’s short history and narrating the process of pie-making. (“We soak our apples in Concord grape juice and actual grapes,” Mike had clarified for Bitty when he’d asked. Jack was just relieved to find out he was not going to consume some sort of genetically modified fruit abomination.) They got to quickly interview Kierin Baldwin, the resident pastry chef who is the mastermind behind these pies, and she let Bitty pick her brain a little (as she picked his brain a little, too) before going back to being elbow-deep in pie dough. Mike served them two slices of the Grapple pie, smiled to himself when Jack paid for both of their coffees (Jack had silenced Bitty with a look when he started sputtering about paying for his own coffee), and then gracefully excused himself to, well, actually do his job.

Jack looks down at Bitty who is seated at a booth in the corner with his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his knuckles, as he adjusts his camera on its tripod. He quietly snaps a picture of Bittle like this, peering patiently down at the slice of Grapple pie in front of him. Bitty hears the click of the camera and looks up to smile shyly at him, and he feels his fingers tingle and his stomach swoop and really, truly, he would appreciate if they didn’t do that, but God, he would be lying if he said he wanted them to stop.

Jack takes a few close-up shots of the pie in question—it has a perfect lattice top crust oozing with (naturally and artfully) grape-flavored apples, grapes, and golden raisins, a couple of wine-soaked pears on the side, with a scoop of rhum-raisin ice cream for good measure—and then Bitty is off, prefacing the audience with a few jokes and lighthearted comments mostly directed at Jack, who constantly hides his smiles behind his handheld mount. And then Bitty takes a bite and reacts naturally, his words getting increasingly extreme and his expression the look of ecstasy, and Jack doesn’t even have time to react before it’s his turn to get on camera.

“Jack,” Bitty says, snapping him out of his daze. “You want some?” 

Jack nods automatically, not even sure what he want some _of_ anymore. He moves to set his camera down on the table behind him, but Bitty reaches out with grabby hands, so Jack tentatively hands it over to Bitty. He tries not to react when their fingers brush on the hand strap. He scoots into the booth just as Bitty scoots out of it, letting Jack take center stage for the first time that day. Jack looks nervously between the main camera and his handheld, which Bitty is holding with secure hands and a light smile. He rolls his shoulders, clears his throat, and dives into the pie.

This one is definitely the best one yet, Jack thinks, even though it’s the first slice Bitty’s not feeding him. It’s a lot milder than the other pies, the different textures and acidities somehow melding together perfectly. He likes the sensation of the popping grapes in his mouth, it’s new and refreshing and surprisingly not overwhelming. It kind of reminds him of his pre-game PB&Js he would have when he was younger. 

He doesn’t realize he hasn’t said anything until Bitty prompts him. “Well?” 

Jack groans belatedly. “It’s delicious,” he says, going in for another bite.

Bitty laughs. “It better be, it’s ten bucks a slice,” he teases. 

Jack nods solemnly, savoring the pie in his mouth. “It’s like… It’s like, why haven’t we thought of grape-flavored apples before?” he muses around a mouthful of ice cream. “It’s great. But you know what would make this even better?” 

Behind the camera, Bitty raises an amused eyebrow. “What?”

Jack makes eye contact with the stand camera. “Maple syrup.” 

Bitty rolls his eyes. “ _So_ Canadian,” he chirps.

“Hey, don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it,” Jack echoes Bitty’s earlier words. “And all that jazz.”

* * *

Later, when they’ve packed up their equipment and finished their slices of pie, Jack suggests an early dinner.

“Fried chicken, oysters, and pie,” he quips, which makes Bitty cackle. “We’ve only had one of three.” 

“You’re right,” Bitty agrees, biting his lip. “You sure you don’t have to be back at the office yet?” 

Jack shakes his head. “I’m good.” 

And Bitty nods, and that’s that. They choose a table near the back and sit right across from each other. The food is pretty pricey but they both agree they’re kind of good for it, so Bitty gets the fried chicken, Jack gets a hanger steak, and they both get some oysters to share. Jack is trying not to watch as Bitty fiddles with his phone, instead studying the drinks at the bar he has no intention of visiting, when Bitty clears his throat.

“I, um.” Bitty shifts in his seat, and then flashes Jack a shy smile. “I just wanted to say thanks for going along with this,” he says. “I know it was kind of a weird idea.” 

Jack’s endeared by this admission, so he gives Bitty a shy smile in return. “It was no problem, really,” he reassures him. “And… it’s not so weird…?”

Bitty raises his eyebrows a little like he doesn’t believe Jack. “Really? This… whole being on-camera thing? One-on-one dining? I didn’t ambush you or anything?” 

Jack shakes his head and seems to catch himself, and then he nods. “I mean, yeah, you did ambush me,” he mock-glares at Bitty, who rewards him with a small giggle. “But… it doesn’t feel weird. I mean it did at first, because I’m not usually in front of the camera, but now it… doesn’t,” he rambles, hoping that Bitty understands.

Bitty laughs, shaking his head. “Kinda feels like three dates wrapped in one,” he says quietly, mostly to his hands. 

Jack is trying to suppress the heat that’s crawling up his neck and cheeks. He barely notices that Bitty’s trying to do the same. “I, uh. I wouldn’t know.”

Bitty looks up from his hands to study Jack carefully. “What do you mean?” 

Jack contemplates chickening out of this conversation, but ultimately decides telling Bitty would be harmless. “I don’t, uh. Go on very many dates,” he admits a little sheepishly.

Bitty is obviously trying to tamp down his surprise. “Do you mind me asking why?” 

They’ve already broached the topic, so Jack figures he should just soldier on. He shakes his head no. “I’m not… the most outgoing person out there…” He’s fiddling with his phone again, spinning it between his thumb and forefinger.

Across him, Bitty’s expression softens. “Oh, honey, you can be,” he says, which gets Jack’s attention. Bitty gives him a small smile. “You’re not half as awkward as you think. You weren't today, at least.” 

And as much as Jack wants to deflect, he has to admit that Bitty’s right. Today was one of the few times (if not the only time) in his recent memory that he spent a day with a near-stranger he didn’t actively ignore the whole time. He wants to claim credit, but he thinks he owes all of that to Bitty. He lets that realization hang in the air between them instead of replying, until he randomly remembers Jared from Milk Bar.

“What about you?” Jack asks a startled Bitty. “Do you… go out on dates much?” 

Bitty clears his throat. “I don’t—I mean, I used to, but not recently. I’ve been kinda busy,” he says, shrugging. Jack’s not good at reading people, but he thinks Bitty sounds a little resigned.

“The cashier guy,” Jack blurts out, which has Bitty raising an eyebrow at him. “From Milk Bar earlier? He was asking if you have—if you’re seeing anyone.” 

Bitty’s eyes widen to the size of saucers. “Wait—what?” 

Jack frowns. “Why is that so shocking?” He’s only half teasing, because he’s actually genuinely curious.

“I—” Bitty sputters, covering his mouth. He breathes a laugh, running a hand through his hair. It—well, it’s actually cute when it sticks up like that a little. “Wow, I didn’t even realize—” 

“Yeah, pretty sure he was into you,” Jack ventures, liking the reddish tint that had appeared on Bitty’s cheeks.

Bitty seems to really consider that for a moment, and then he wrinkles his nose. “Eh, he’s not really my type,” he says.

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Then what is?” 

Bitty narrows his eyes playfully, tilting his head a little. It’s a huge contrast to the flush on his cheeks. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He smiles his secret smile, and, like clockwork, tingles erupt from Jack's fingertips.

He really does want to know, if he’s being honest, but Jack shakes his head and laughs instead of saying so.

* * *

Their food arrives eventually, and everything is gastronomic—Jack’s steak is perfectly cooked, Bitty’s chicken is fried to perfection, and the oysters taste fresh as ever. Jack really comes to understand the somewhat lofty price. Fried chicken, oysters, and pie indeed. 

They talk, too, and it’s nothing like Jack had ever experienced with anyone, not even Shitty, before. Shitty took some getting used to—especially considering his blatant disregard for personal limits, but Bitty… Bitty is a whole other beast. He’s not sure why, but Bitty is really easy to talk to, as if he’s pulling Jack further and further out of his shell just by way of his words—it’s frightening, but also completely exciting. He’s never talked about himself as much as he had that night, and it feels surprisingly good. He feels full and aloof and a little better than just content, but Bitty’s smile feels like an anchor. Not a weight, but something to keep him grounded because he feels like he could just float away. 

It feels like a date.

Later, after they’ve shared another slice of pie for dessert and split the bill (after a few minutes of petty bickering), Jack follows Bitty out to his car. Bitty shivers in the cold New York night, and Jack drapes his jacket over his shoulders. Bitty smiles shyly at Jack over his shoulder, whispering a thank you in a puff of mist. Jack feels the intimacy of it all land tingles in his scalp.

But it’s not a date.

Over the course of the next week, Jack and Bitty talk more than they had in the last three months combined. Bitty brings him some sort of baked good every morning, and Jack gives him a smile he doesn’t have to force. They even have lunch together twice, once with Shitty and Lardo and once just by themselves. Jack wonders (more than twice) why they hadn’t become friends any sooner. 

He (kind of, a little, just slightly) wonders what would have happened if Saturday had been a date.

And Jack’s not stupid—he knows the tingle in his fingers and the shock up his spine every time Bitty smiled at him was no coincidence. He’s acknowledged that Bitty is very attractive, and has even witnessed this fact at work firsthand. He’s amazing to talk to, amazing to work with. He’s a great person overall.

Of course, Jack also knows a lot of it is trivial. If it had been a date, then maybe they’d go on a few more. Maybe they'd be together. They’d go through the honeymoon phase and be all lovey-dovey and cute, and then they’ll get over it, and they’ll fight and they’ll hate each other, and it would probably just ruin their friendship forever. Jack wasn’t sure a little self-gratification was worth ruining what they were just starting to build. And all this was only if Bitty actually reciprocated.

 _It’s not worth it_ , Jack tells himself. So he lets himself wonder, but doesn’t act on it.

* * *

On Friday, Jack’s just finishing the final touches on the video (which turned out to be thirteen minutes long, woosh) when Bitty arrives at his desk to start packing up for the day.

“How’s the progress?” Bitty asks, giving Jack a smile.

Jack slides his headphones down to his neck and swivels his chair to face Bitty. “Nearly done,” he tells him with a smile of his own. “Wanna see?” 

Bitty nods, sets his laptop back down on his desk and walks over to stand behind Jack, who hands him his headphones. Bitty has to adjust them quite a bit to fit, but once they’re on, Jack clicks playback where he has the video paused.

Jack steels himself as Bitty watches over his shoulder, acutely aware of Bitty’s hands resting on the back of his chair. He watches their day flash before his eyes, perfectly captured and meticulously edited, and he wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he wishes this were a series instead of a single video, if just an excuse to keep making them with Bitty.

He snaps back to reality right in time to catch the the part right before Bitty tastes the Grapple pie. He can’t hear it, but he remembers the conversation.

It’s the two of them at The Dutch. Or, more accurately, it’s Bitty at The Dutch, with Jack just slightly in frame, holding the bulky handheld camera.

“If this show was a Grapple,” Bitty says, peering up at Jack, who’s leaning in closer to the table to take a better shot of the pie, “who would be the apple and who would be the grape?”

“What?” Jack asks absently, eyes trained on his viewfinder screen.

“You heard me,” Bitty rolls his eyes, looking on the verge of laughter.

Jack chuckles quietly, eyes not leaving his camera. “You’re for sure the apple.” 

BItty hums, drumming his fingers on his chin as he watches Jack. “Why is that?” 

“You’re the foundation of this show,” says Jack easily, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m just here to make here to make you look even better, but you’re the whole point.” 

Bitty laughs, clear and bright. “That’s flattery, Mr. Zimmermann,” he accuses, pointing his fork at him.

Jack shrugs. “Not if it’s true.” He walks out of frame, leaving Bitty to follow him with his eyes.

Bitty shakes his head, smiling to himself. “You really are the grape, though,” he says after a beat, looking at Jack who’s taken his place behind the camera.

“Why?” The camera doesn’t catch it, but Jack quirks an eyebrow.

Bitty breaks out in a full grin. “Grapes get better with a little time,” he says, finger-gunning at the camera.

On-camera (or, rather, in-video) Jack groans just as in-real-life Jack pauses the video, to glance back at Bitty. 

Bitty, who just blinks at the screen blankly.

Jack’s just about to panic about him not liking it before Bitty breaks into a smile. It’s not his usual smile—it’s more muted, in a way, less bright and doesn’t really reach his eyes—but it’s a smile nonetheless. “It’s great, Jack,” he says, handing him back his headphones and moving back towards his desk much too quickly. “It’s, um… great job with the sound mixing!” 

_Sound… mixing… what_ — “Bittle?” he says, turning around completely to face him. “Is everything okay—” 

“Yeah,” Bitty says, moving back to his desk and almost frantically grabbing all of his stuff. “Yeah, I just remembered I had to—um, meet someone...” 

“Okay...?” Jack watches as he backs away quickly. He stands to follow him, but the tug of his headphones holds him back. “I’ll—I’ll just upload it to the drive so you can watch the rest of it. Just… let me know if there’s anything that needs to be changed?” He doesn’t mean it to sound like a question, but Bitty is going away so quickly and he just wants to make sure he's okay.

Bitty stops in his tracks and turns to look at Jack with a soft expression. “No, Jack. It’s perfect. You can turn it in now, actually,” he says, giving Jack a small smile. “Seriously.”

Jack frowns even deeper, studying Bitty’s face, but nods eventually. “I—okay, I’ll go see Johnson in a bit,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Bitty nods a little too enthusiastically, smiles-slash-grimaces, and then he’s gone.

Jack sinks back into his chair for a second, trying to process what just happened. He was sure something happened, something that had upset Bitty, and it frustrated him that he didn’t know what it was. He doesn’t—can’t—know what Bitty was feeling, and he can’t control that, so he decides to do what he always does when he’s confused and annoyed and a little disappointed: throw himself back into his work.

Before he can do that, though, he feels a faint buzzing in his pocket. Startled and still confused, Jack pull his phone out to find that it’s his dad calling. It’s just unusual enough that Jack doesn’t question it (at least for too long), so he presses his phone to his ear to answer it.

“Papa?” He turns in his swivel chair, resting his elbow on the arm rest.

“Hey, Jack,” his dad says. Jack can hear his smile all the way from Providence. “How are you?”

“I should be asking you,” Jack says. “What’s up?”

Bad Bob chuckles. “Your mom told me about your series with Eric Bittle!” he says, a little too excitedly for a hockey legend to be talking about a Youtube personality. “How is that going?” 

Jack furrows his brows at his dad’s crazy timing. “It’s… Actually, I’m just finishing up. Bitty—Eric—gave me the thumbs up to turn it in tonight, so I thought I'd do that before I go,” he tells him. 

“That’s great to hear, son,” his papa says. “But I was thinking—you know that series Buzzfeed did a few years back?” 

Jack barely registers his papa’s prattling in his ear because the image of Bitty’s manic departure is still in fresh his head. He wants to figure out why he left so quickly, why it bothered Jack so much to see it, and he’s actually contemplating calling Bitty when his dad's silence on the line brings him back to reality.

“Jack?” Bob calls out gently. “Is everything alright?”

Jack clears his throat, shakes his head. “Yeah, papa,” he says. “Just… Sorry. Got sidetracked a little. What was that you were saying?”

On the line, Bob clucks his tongue. “Don’t worry about it, mon fils. I was just saying this concept for your video reminded me of a series Buzzfeed did a few years ago. The one with, ah, what were their names? Steven, I think one of them was? And Andrew? And there was this other guy… The idea is so—” 

Jack freezes. Last Saturday replays in his head in lightning speed—the car rides, the interviews, the food tasting, the playful banter—and the connection is almost immediate. He can’t believe it didn’t occur to him earlier. He wishes he realized it sooner. 

“Worth It,” he breathes, and his brain “aha’s!” at the same time his dad does. His heart thumps with the gravity of the realization and his feels his fingers vibrate with his pulse.

“Ah, yes! That’s the one,” Bob says, sounding satisfied. “I just remembered—”

“Papa,” he says impatiently, clutching his phone tighter in his hand. “Papa, I—I need to go.”

Bob pauses, probably a little surprised by his son’s sudden urgency. But his recovery is so smooth, and Jack is so, so grateful for his next words. “Go,” he says. “Do what you have to do. You know what your uncle says—you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.” 

Jack groans, because he’s heard it way too many times in his life, and also because it was somehow all he needed to hear. “Merci, papa,” he says quickly, and then he clicks his phone off without waiting for a reply, and then he’s running.

He’s running, and his heart is beating wildly in his chest, and his head is buzzing, and his mouth has gone dry. He can’t believe he let a week pass without realizing it.

Bitty is worth it. The whole concept of the video, too—it’s literally Worth It—but this. Giving this thing with Bitty a shot, letting himself try for something he actually really wants—it’s all worth it. Even if it doesn’t work out in the end. 

He doesn’t really know where he’s supposed to be going until he gets out to the parking lot and spots Bitty’s car over on the far end. He almost yelps in relief, sprinting over and getting to it in record time.

The car is started, Jack realizes from the soft hum of the engine. Bitty has both his hands on the wheel, but he’s hunched over it, hair falling into his face so that Jack can’t see his expression. He knocks gently at the window, and Bitty startles, jumping back into his seat. Jack’s eyes widen when he sees the tear streaks on Bitty’s face, his face red and blotchy. Bitty looks up at him, frowning and questioning and tired. He takes an automatic step back from the door, mostly caused by the pang of guilt he feels in his stomach at the sight of Bitty crying. He desperately wants to make it better, but he doesn’t know how.

Inside the car, Bitty wipes his face on his shirtsleeves and turns the engine off. Jack takes another step back as Bitty opens his door and carefully steps out. Bitty sniffles, still swiping at his eyes and forcing a smile at Jack. 

“Bitty, are you okay?”

“Yeah… Yeah, Jack. Sorry about that, I just—did you—do you need anything?” Bitty asks, quickly swabbing his face with his palm.

Jack frowns at him. He wants to say a million and one things— _yeah, I need_ you _, you’re amazing, I want to try, I’m sorry I’m an idiot_ —but he just doesn’t have the words. He can’t verbalize his feelings, so he does what he usually does when he can’t tell people: he shows them.

He takes back the two steps he forfeited earlier until he’s only inches away from Bitty. Bitty looks up at him, big brown eyes questioning him, but Jack decides to dive in anyway.

“Bitty,” he breathes, and then he's pressing a kiss to Bitty’s lips, feather light and gauging. Immediately, he’s overwhelmed by how right it feels, and it hits him at that moment how much he’s wanted this. He surges forward, putting a little more pressure on Bitty’s lower lip, and then Bitty is gasping his name softly and moving his lips against his and _oh, God, why hadn’t he done this sooner_? Jack’s hands creep up to cup Bitty’s cheeks, and he becomes acutely aware of Bitty’s hands resting on his chest and the prickly sensation in his scalp. Bitty smells like cinnamon sugar and tastes a little like toffee and on anything else, Jack would hate the sweetness of it all, but on Bitty, it’s like the sugar rush he’s never allowed himself before. It’s almost too good to be true.

Jack pulls away for a split second to study Bitty’s face—eyes closed, cheeks tinted pink, and lips slightly parted—before he closes the space between them once more. It’s unlike any kiss he’s ever had before—a little messy, as first kisses go, but soft and sweet and brilliant. Jack never wants to kiss anyone else now that he knows that kissing can feel like this.

Bitty is the one to pull away first, God knows how long later. Jack rests his forehead on Bitty’s and smiles down at him. They’re both panting and their lips are swollen, but their grins are huge. Jack is only starting to rub his thumbs in soft circles on Bitty’s cheeks when he realizes they’re still damp. He pulls back to look at Bitty properly, eyes wide. “Oh, God, I—sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt—”

“Interrupt what?” Bitty says, smiling wetly at Jack. “My pathetic crying session over how I never wanted this project to end? Thinking of ways to prolong it just so I could have an excuse to be with you? Trying to figure how I could ever work with anyone ever again after working with you?” He laughs quietly, blinking away fresh tears. “You’ve ruined working with me for everyone else ever, Jack.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jack says automatically, desperately brushing the tears off of Bitty’s face with his thumbs. “I didn’t know—”

Bitty interrupts him with a soft slap to the chest and a sniffle. “Stop apologizing, Mr. Zimmermann. I could have told you how I felt, too, so we’re even.”

At that, Jack presses a soft kiss to Bitty’s forehead and drops his hands to lace his fingers through Bitty’s, because that’s a thing he can do now. “I think…” he starts, voice hoarse. He clears his throat, and Bitty laughs. “I think I want you to be my partner for everything,” says Jack, looking straight into Bitty’s eyes so he knows he means it.

Bitty smiles his secret smile and rests head on Jack’s shoulder. “Well, you’ve got me,” he mumbles into Jack’s shirt, but Jack hears him loud and clear. “You’ve got me for as long as you want.” 

And as Jack tilts Bitty’s chin up to catch his lips in another chaste kiss, he can’t help but hope there isn’t ever a deadline to this. For whatever it’s worth, he’s not willing to give this up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i am aware that having beyonce playing in the background can lead to some unsatisfying audio, but ssssshh just go with it  
> 2\. i have no idea what a grapple pie might taste like, so i just… kind of made it up. the pie was a real thing though, i’m not sure if they still serve it but you can look it up to find pictures! it looks hella good is all i’ll say  
> 3\. this is the first time i’ve ever done a zimbits first kiss, and my gosh was it Stressful lmao  
> 4\. lastly THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR STICKING AROUND!! I hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as I had fun writing it! If you wanna talk hockey or hockey boyfriends hmu @zimmerhomme on tumblr!!


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